Also Dead
by Ohori
Summary: Molly had somehow ended up as a bit player in her own life.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Just my little contribution to the Sherlock and Molly fandom. Even if no one reads or enjoys this story I'll feel less guilty about reading so many stories and not contributing anything. Also the story idea came from an old episode of The West Wing.

The blood splattered in a perfect arc against the wall of the building.

Or more accurately, her blood splattered in a perfect arc.

She knew the official term for the splatter was arterial spray. Specifically, arterial spray caused by a cut to her brachial artery due to…a ninja star.

A ninja star had sliced open her upper arm.

A ninja star in London.

In 2016.

God, she really needed to learn how to say no to Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't dawdle Molly, the game is afoot."

Molly wrapped her opposing hand against her open wound in an attempt to stymie the blood flow and watched the retreating form of Sherlock exit the alley, not even sparing her a backward glance.

Yeah, she really needed to learn how to say no.

Unfortunately for Molly, a 4 hour wait in the A and E where she received 18 stitches to close the wound on her arm and admonishment from Sherlock ("Please Molly, it's barely a flesh wound, you sound almost as dramatic as John") were the least of the indignities she would suffer that week.

SMSMSM

"Milly Cooper?"

Molly stared at the newspaper in her hands.

"Milly Cooper?" She repeated in shock.

"I know you are tired after last night's case, but I would hope that you are not so addled that you have forgotten your own name."

"No, Sherlock, look at this." Molly frantically waved the newspaper in the air like a small bird whose wings had broken.

"How can I possibly see what is written on that paper if you insist on waving it about my head like a deranged hummingbird."

Molly ignored the insult from Sherlock and starting reading from the article.

"…blah blah blah, jewelry heist…martial arts..Aha! The boffin detective, usually accompanied by former confirmed bachelor John Watson, worked the case with hospital employee, Milly Cooper.."

Molly prevaricated between anger and…well to be honest, more anger.

"I'm not just a hospital employee, I'm the head pathologist. The youngest specialist registrar this hospital has ever had. And my name is not Milly Cooper." She paused. "Oh God, I'm going to be an 'also dead'"

"A what?"

" An 'also dead', you're going to drag me out on one of your cases, where statistically speaking eventually something fatal, and this time permanent, is going to happen and this is how my death is going to be reported, thousands of words dedicated to the wonder that is Sherlock Holmes and then one throwaway line at the end… 'and also dead, hospital employee Milly Cooper '."

It was in that instant that Molly realized that she was a bit player in her own life, not the central character that everyone rooted for, but the tertiary character who hung out on the fringes that while the audience was happy to see them, if they disappeared 20 minutes in to the program no one was really bothered.

Molly Hooper's life had been swallowed completely into the orbit of Sherlock Holmes.

She needed to do something. She was the main character. She counted. She deserved better.


	2. Chapter 2

So here is the end to the mini-story. I look at this as being more of a prologue to a bigger story involving Molly and her journey of self-discovery. Thanks to everyone for reading.

SM - SM - SM

A week later Molly stood in the living room of 221B Baker Street, staring at a shocked Sherlock Holmes.

"I love you," she blurted out. She hesitated, feeling uncertain, then she smiled, it was a wide, genuine, beautiful smile. "Oh my, I never thought I'd actually tell you." She laughed. "It wasn't even that hard. I have been in love with you for so long I couldn't even tell you when it began. I would do anything for you. But I can't keep lying to myself by pretending that I don't love you."

"I had no idea. I suspected a small infatuation…"

"Of course you didn't know. That would involve you actually paying attention to another person's feelings." She smiled sadly. "Would you like to have coffee? And, yes, I know, black, 2 sugars. I mean would you like to go out with me and have coffee? Or tea. Or any beverage really. Just you, me, together. Like a date."

She was pushing her hand, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to give him an out this time. No misunderstandings, no misinterpretations, if he was going to reject her she was going to make him say the words out loud.

She needed to hear the rejection, needed to feel the words wash over her like waves, needed to feel the physical pain, needed her heart to break in two. She needed it all so that she could finally start her journey to healing, her journey to forgetting Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

Even though it was exactly what she had expected, the words still ripped a hole through her lungs, momentarily taking her breath away. What was that old cliché, ' _pain is just weakness leaving the body?'_

Her weakness had always been Sherlock.

Sherlock was the pain inside her.

Well, if Sherlock had ever been inside her, she probably wouldn't be in this position right now.

 ** _Don't make jokes Molly; they're really not your area_** **.**

A small laugh escaped Molly, then another and another, followed by a sob until she didn't know if she was laughing or crying.

"Molly, are you okay?"

"No," she choked out on a broken sob. She wiped haphazardly at the tears streaking down her face. "No, I'm not alright. But I will be."


End file.
